


The Great Fall

by siamh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Child Death, Death, Decline of Civilization, F/F, F/M, Fiction, Horror, Human Trafficking, I swear, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Near Future, Psychological Trauma, There is a light at the end of the tunnel, crazy people, cross-posted on AFF.org, long story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siamh/pseuds/siamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse has arrived, but not in any manner we expected. Civilization is collapsing. The Governments of the world are missing. The smartest scientists of our generation have disappeared. Besides the piles of rodent chewed dead lining the roads, there's something foul smelling in the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

I think we all expected it to be a global war. A plague of epic proportions, even an alien invasion was plausible. Global warming and human greed, the rising oceans slowly creeping up on our homes and businesses, the slow death of our forests and extinction of our food sources… Maybe we would eat ourselves out of our livelihood, maybe we would have a massive Civil War, as we rebelled against the governments _._

Of all the ways to go this wasn't one of them…

 

I don't sleep much, but when I do, I typically oversleep.

This morning was no different, when I woke up at eleven in the morning feeling like shit, I was more disappointed than my usual self, I always feel like shit, that's not much of a change, but I had missed my morning television show by two hours; I had also just ruined my typical morning. I haven't yet found a late morning show that I find some semblance of enjoyment from as of yet, so it was onto morning routine number two. I got up and prepared my coffee and breakfast. If I moved slower than my usual efficient self, I didn't count it against myself… not today at least.

I hated plan B's.

I sat down in my collapsible chair in empty living room and sipped and ate my bland breakfast in silence. I attempted to build up a meditative state as I looked outside the front window watching the top of the trees sway in the wind, silently, peacefully.

I took a deep breath, and took a large scalding gulp of my coffee, delaying any other action for another minute.

"Onto morning routine number two"

I pulled a smart phone out from the drink holder of my chair and turned it on. I took another sip of coffee, smaller as the previous one and burned on its way down, as I waited for it to boot up. I looked out the window again while the phone dinged it's readiness. I glanced back down after another sip of coffee and ignored the missed calls notification that popped up. I swiped my thumb to the right and clicked on the messaging app I used; which I haven't looked at in over three days. Seeing the little red markers sent my heart racing into palpitations, my hands immediately began to tremble and I could feel dread spread from my head down my spine and back again. There was a number four on the red marker. There should not be a number four. I didn't speak with enough people on this app to garner four messages. My mother and father, those are the only people who messaged me on here. I took another sip of my coffee, clenched my jaw, took a deep calming breath through my nose, and quickly clicked on the icon.

I read the captions quickly without clicking on anything, I didn't want anyone to realize I had read their message just yet. Three of them where just inquirers about my health, apparently I've been too quiet this past week on the old social media website I used to use fanatically, and what remained of my, once large pool, of friends, were worried about me. I calmed my racing heart and began the tedious act of responding to the three messages.

In other words, I lied through my teeth about being a busy bee and added a smiley face and heart for good measure, I copied the text, and pasted it into the next two reply boxes.

Done.

The last message was my mother, from late last night, wondering if I had found a psychiatrist in the little town I had just moved too. I gave her the same reply I had been giving her for the past month, "Still looking mom! Love you lots! Xoxox :)" I quickly shut down my social media feed after my replies, worried she, or someone else, would suddenly come online and want to chat.

Feeling accomplished I sat in silence finishing the last couple sips of my coffee, calming my nerves. That was about as much social interaction with my old life I would force on myself today. I had done well, I replied to four messages.

I looked down at my empty coffee mug and contemplated making another. No, too much caffeine made me jittery. I sat lost and confused as to what I could do for the rest of the hour before I could switch back to routine number one and begin my exercise regime, maybe I could sit outside and read while enjoying the sunshine. I thought about it for a couple minutes before nodding to no one but myself.

I grabbed the black camp chair that I had been sitting on and one of the many books scattered in piles along the wall of the living room. I would sit outside and enjoy the sun, but I would need to do it before I could talk myself out of it.

I opened the front door, took a deep breath and stepped outside with the chair tucked under my left arm and the book in my hand. I left the door opened a crack, despite the blistering heat, and set up my chair for the next hour on the concrete pad, which separated the walkway from the dead lawn.

"Excuse me, miss?"

I looked up quickly, I hadn't been sitting here for more than five minutes when I was interrupted by the little boy who lived in the duplex next to mine. He gave me an awkward shy smile and held up a child sized soccer ball in his small hands.

"Could you play with us? We don't have enough people."

I looked behind him and saw two preschoolers and a kindergartener, all little boys with big wide eyes staring at me with all the hope in the world. I bit my bottom lip, took another breath, glanced at the cracked open door to my apartment, and nodded.

"Okay. Yeah, where do you want me?" The little boy gave a big toothy smile, he was missing his two front incisors making his grin infectious. I gave him a small smile in return.

A good five minutes into the farce we called a game of soccer, I came to the realization I was an awkward giant compared to the little boys, all of which were running circles around my imaginary goalie net and scoring wildly, and illegally. I stumbled forward, landing on my knees, as one of the preschoolers picked up the soccer ball I was about to kick and made a mad dash around me toward the net I had just previously turned my back too. The little boy surprised a laugh out of me as I turned around, watching as he tossed the ball into the empty space we called a net with all of the strength in his little preschooler arms.

"That's cheating!" Came the outraged cry of my fellow teammate, who shook his head from side to side dramatically as he raced after the now bouncing ball. I turned to look at the guilty party, but his little face was tilted up, looking at something over my left shoulder.

"Plane!" He pointed behind me, big crystal blue eyes wide in delight. I looked toward where his finger was pointed and saw the long greyish-white exhaust stream of a distant incoming plane. I turned back towards the kid and smiled softly at his widened eyes and nodded.

"Plane." I murmured in agreement as my enraged teammate tossed me the soccer ball, demanding to his fellow playmates that the score wouldn't count as it was done with hands.

"Only the goalie can pick up the ball, Alec! You can't!" He raged at the top of his lungs as only an angry child could, and stomped his foot on the grass. "Alec!"

I looked down at the distracted preschooler, whose name I had just learned, and watched as his arm slowly dropped from its raised position. He was frowning now in confusion, still staring at the distant plane in the sky, the kindergartener, who was his teammate, was also looking up in confusion.

"Planes?" They both looked over to me inquiringly, eyes shifting from my face to behind my shoulder, over and over again. I looked behind me again, a horrible feeling welling up inside of my stomach. Planes don't have greyish-white exhaust streaks behind them, jets did.

I was sitting on an old paint splattered industrial stool, a dinged up stool, which I fondly remembered stealing from my old high school during one of my drunken rampages with my friends. I giggled at the memory as I shifted my weight forward on it, listening to it squeak in familiar protest, I made it squeak again. I was in my old apartment, in Ottawa, sitting in front of a large canvas, a double zero paint brush between my fingers, paint splattered all over my body and knotted in my chaotic hair. I saw the canvas, tilting my head from side to side as I analyzed my creation, I had spent three days and nights of my life painting her, I was looking for any mistakes or imperfections. I smiled and dabbed my brush one last time over the woman's bright blue iris, she was perfect now. Beautiful.

I could taste something, minerals, earthy‒ like fresh picked potatoes or mushrooms, I moved my tongue a bit more, it was grain like in consistency. The more I moved it around my mouth, the more it stuck to my cheeks and tongue. I opened my eyes and saw grass, grass the colour of straw, and dirt, and many many slivers of wood. I frowned. I brought my arms up under my chest and pushed. I was sitting now. Why were there roof shingles on the front lawn? I looked around me.

Nothing looked right, I spat up the dark brown substance- Mud, dirt. Why was I eating dirt? I stood up, there was a high pitched ringing in my ears- tinnitus- and the world tilted rapidly to my left, like a marionette without strings I fell down. Something soft broke my fall and a perfectly positioned wooden beam kept me somewhat upright in a sitting position, thankful for the soft landing, I tried again, this time attempting to crawl over the pieces of debris toward the asphalt road. It was hard, my world kept tilting left, and the insistent ringing in my ears wouldn't stop. Eventually, after struggling and much swearing, I made it over the rubble and just sat down in the middle of the road.

Sitting was too much work, I lay down on the asphalt.

My butt was wet.

I closed my eyes and brushed my hand down my inner thigh, dry. Okay, so it wasn't me, was it the ground? Was the ground wet? I opened my eyes and rolled my head to look down my left side, there was brownish red all over my favourite yoga pants. Damn, I spilled paint on myself again, this is why I chose to paint naked, no mess. I closed my eyes and held back the tears of frustration at the cost.

What a waste of good paint.

 


	2. Blood and Mud

“Hey! Hey you! Miss?”

A voice, a stern voice, a man's voice. I opened my eyes from my dozing.

Had I been drinking again? No, I stopped that after‒

“Miss, can you speak? I need you conscious. Can you do that?”

A hand gripped the side of my face, forcing me to look him in the eye.

I saw a flash of hazel before I flinched away, immediately seeking out the blue sky behind him. A greyish blue sky covered in trails of long clouds, or was that smoke? I focused on the billowing blackish clouds again, smoke. Why was there smoke? A flash of blue eyes and a double zero paint brush entered my minds eye.

“The plane, the plane crashed?” My voice croaked, like I had spent the better part of the day smoking pot with my friends in the backyard. That would explain my foggy memory.

“It wasn't a plane, Miss.” The man said, he grimaced, which I caught out of the corner of my eye, and looked over my head, “Can you sit up? Is that your blood? Are you injured?”

I remembered the red paint on my yoga pants. Dammit, laundry day was going to be expensive this week, I shared in the mans grimace. I lifted myself up from my prone position on the ground, shrugging off his irritatingly helpful hand. It made my skin crawl to be touched by other people.

“It's paint.” I groaned to the ground as I forced my legs to bend underneath me. My right knee was stiff, and swollen, I might have strained it in a pot induced yoga session again, I needed to tone my usage down. A distant yell filled the air, its feminine shrillness was sure to be heard for miles.

“Incoming!”

The man grabbed my head and body tugging me into his broad chest as a loud explosion echoed around me. The ground rumbled beneath my feet in its fury, sending shock waves up my already weakened legs.

“Brace yourself! We've got another!” Another cry this one closer.

Another explosion.

I could smell the mans sweat, feel the moistness of his dark blue work shirt on my left cheek and ear. I wanted to throw myself away from him, but his grip around my arms and back was too strong. I ignored the fact that the sound of his racing heart beat matched my own, I struggled to breath through my suddenly constricted lungs and the uncomfortable sensation of bugs under my skin. I squirmed frantically and slipped out from under his hold, unable to bare it anymore. I used the excuse of looking around the neighbourhood in a panic, in hopes he wouldn't question my reaction. Under the guise of brushing my wild hair away from my eyes, I wiped my left cheek and ear of any sweat he had left on me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the hot, soot filled air, clearing my nostrils and mouth of his scent.

I coughed, choking on the dust unexpectedly.

I opened my eyes to the surrounding destruction.

More smoke, more dust. Buildings where flattened. A fire three houses down was raging, its flames reaching the skies, spreading its thick black smoke toward the heavens. More fires further away, each with its own pillar of smoke. Chaos. I watched people running back and forth between the destruction, some with purpose, others hopelessly standing in front of piles of rubble, kicking pieces of wood or chunks of old brick and mortar. I could see bodies being pulled from the wreckage, some of them clearly dead, others, covered in blood, clinging to their rescuers. An old Greek woman, who lived down the road from me, was sitting not far away, covered in dirt and ash, wailing like a banshee.

What the fuck had just happened.

“We don't know yet. Someone was saying it's the Russians, but I heard another man say it was the satellites falling from space. All we do know for sure is it's not stopping any time soon.” The man said, I must have said that out loud, I swallowed my nausea and pursed my lips closed. He grabbed my arm, I jerked away and fell backwards into an almost crab crawl. I wanted a shower, and a good soap to scrub myself down with. He sighed in what could only be irritation, “Look, I need to go find more survivors, go to the nearest emergency shelter, give your name, get medical attention if you need it. The hospital is half gone, what remains of it is packed, but some of the schools and churches are still standing, they should have nurses and first aid on site.” He stood up swiftly and dusted his jeans off, for all the good that did them, the air was full of smoke and dust, and began sprinting toward the house on fire, where more men were calling for assistance.

I sat there, listening to my neighbour wailing and another explosion in the distance. I could feel the panic welling up in my chest, the burning in my eyes. I stood up again, ignoring my knees protest and stumbled up the street. This is how a civilian in a war torn countries must feel like, I swallowed tasting dirt in my mouth. I didn't know where I was going, but I was going to get as far away from the endlessly haunting wail.

What the fuck was happening.

 

I might have wandered for an hour, maybe only a couple minutes. I don't know. My thoughts were chaotic, I had to stop myself twice from turning back around to close my apartment door. Rather stupid as my apartment was spread all over the front lawn and asphalt, the open door wasn't the problem, it was the lack of a door, a destroyed duplex, that was the problem.

Did house insurance over plane crashes, or whatever the fuck this was?

I didn't have a place to sleep anymore, the bitter taste of coffee filled my mouth once more, covering up the taste of dirt. I puked all over the sidewalk, I didn't know which was better, the taste of bile, or mud. I stumbled forward again hoping no one saw my moment of weakness, I needed to find a quiet spot in all of this mess, I needed to meditate or start my yoga. I needed order, I needed four walls and a roof.

I would go to my fathers house, I decided in a moment of clarity.

With a plan in mind I felt calmer, I had something to focus on other than my wet feet.

I looked down in confusion as my left paint smeared sneaker sunk into what had previously been a dry debris covered sidewalk, it was a watery mess now. The metal fence next to our large steel water tower was now scattered across the road, its posts and chain links twisted and burnt. I looked up, squinting my eyes against the sun and the harsh breeze carrying the smell of fire and road dust. The water tower was a twisted mass of burnt metal, half of it was now covering the intersection up ahead, the other half was delicately balanced over a large water filled crater, waiting for a strong enough wind to knock it down.

“What the...”

“Asteroids, that's what. Coming down from the heaven's.” An old greying woman, in a long ankle length floral skirt said as she stood next to me, shaking her head as she stared at what remained of the water tower, “God's Wrath is what this is, we have to pay the price for our sins now.”

I stepped to the side sharing the watery sidewalk with her. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she signed the cross against her chest and said a prayer. I wasn't religious by any means and felt awkward watching her, like I was intruding on something private. I prepared to keep walking, intent on reaching my father.

“Come with me, girl. There's my church up ahead, we'll be safe there as long as we pray for our salvation.” Faster than I thought possible, her old wrinkled claws gripped my upper arm and began to tug me around the water crater, and what fractured remains of the water tower were left standing. “It's not a proper church of course, you'll only find those in the South, but it will do.” I was unable to break free from the woman's surprisingly fierce grip, no matter how obviously I tried, or loud my noises of distress became. I sighed, and grit my teeth against the feel of her dry wrinkled hands and resigned myself to being dragged to whatever church was hers, there was at least a dozen in this town. She grumbled under her breath as she trekked though the ankle deep mud and water, her skirt was getting soaked and muddy, my own yoga pants and sneakers were wet up to my knees, and every step in the mud threatened to keep my sneakers.

 

The Church, was Roman Catholic and its large oak doors were cast wide open. Dozens flocked inside, some of them crying silently, others clutching bandaged limbs or heads with stricken facial expressions. Everyone was covered in varying degrees of dust, soot, or mud, some of them were splattered in blood or burn marks, all of them moving with single minded focus, much like the woman holding my arm in her vice like grip. A middle aged man, was standing to the right of the doors helping people through, whispering words of comfort into their ears as they past him, patting others on the back, or sharing looks over others.

A young blonde haired girl in a blue frill dress was sitting on the third step leading up to the door, everyone was walking around her silently, some looked down at her in passing, but no one stopped. She was clutching her right arm tightly to her chest, it rested at an odd angle‒ broken, I winced in sympathy. No doubt feeling my gaze, her large hollow blue eyes stared right at me, I recoiled, children shouldn't have eyes like that. Instead, I looked at the top of her little white blond head.

“What are you doing sitting on these steps, Emily. Get into the Church where it's safe!” The woman clutching my arm snapped. She gave my arm a sharp tug, punishing me in place of the little girl, I tugged back, the old woman didn't budge.

“They're dead Mrs. Bedford. Mom's dead, Dad's dead, my little brother‒ he was supposed be at a friends, but I can't find him no more. The house was gone.” She sniffed, her small face twisted in grief before it settled back into blankness. It was unnerving. A sudden twitch in life shook her body because the next second she was standing up yelling at us “It's because I kicked him isn't it! It's cause I kicked him! He wouldn't stop stealing my toys! And now the Lord is punishing me!”

“Now you listen here, Emily Shaw, this ain't your fault. Your brother is pro'lly at another church or at some school! You wait now, he'll be aroun' that corner over there all teary eyed for you!” At last the woman's grip left me, seeking out the little girls shoulders and holding her in an embrace. “You wait now, you'll see, the Lord has a plan for all of us in this mess.”

The middle aged man came down the steps, a worried look on his face as he took in the crying 10 year old in Mrs. Bedford's arms, he looked down at me from his perch on the stairs enquiringly, I pretended not to see him and focused on the little girl awkwardly. I immediately began nodding my head in agreement, and twisted my face in what I hoped looked both sympathetic and understanding to the situation she was in.

I felt like a really bad actress in an intense Broadway drama, I probably looked like an idiot, I certainly felt like one, nodding my head like I was. I kept nodding anyways.

“There's another one incoming!”

I looked up just in time to see, and hear, a roaring fiery streak whip through the sky, exploding somewhere in the commercial district a kilometre down the road. The ground rumbled as a plume of rubble and dust shot up into the air. My heart beating into my throat, I watched the people around me begin screaming, some hit the ground with their hands over their heads, others began to pray, and even more scrambled to get into the church faster. I hadn't the slightest clue what I should do, duck and cover, or begin running. I stood there frozen in indecision.

“Everyone calm down! Johnson, Richards, and Madison keep an eye on the skies, everyone else get inside the church! We have some food and water and two nurses inside. You'll be safe as long as everyone remains calm!” The man standing on the steps called out, “Mrs. Bedford, lets take her inside to see one of the nurses, you too Miss.”

I cringed as I followed the crowd into the even more crowded church alter room. My heart still racing from watching the fiery rock whip past me, began to speed up even faster, my stomach rolled but I had nothing more to puke. I would be avoiding the food and water apparently.

I found myself shuffling in behind the last pew and the pristine white walls to the far back corner, it was occupied by a fake dust covered tree, but I was certain no one would mind me repositioning it to the left of me. I wearily braced myself against the corner walls in a slow slide down into a seated position, where I kicked my shoes and socks off of my feet. It was a horrible habit, and my mother used to yell at me for it, but she wasn't here, and no one was watching.

I let out a long shuttered breath and relaxed, closing my burning eyes into a meditative state, ignoring the dozen raised voices, the crying children, and the sobs around me.

And to think, I thought to myself, it was probably only noon.

 

“Miss, is that your blood? Are you injured?” I opened my eyes, irritated at being disturbed from my doze again, it a young red haired woman in a nurses uniform, a stethoscope was hanging from her neck. Before i could reply she was already rolling up my pants looking at my leg.

“It's paint and mud” I shook my head in the negative, pulling my leg away from her, intent on closing my eyes again and ignoring the hot muggy church. I gagged at the thought of sharing the air with all of these people.

“Miss, that's not paint or mud, it's blood.” The nurse wrapped her gloved hands around my thigh and began to press down on it, straightening it, “Do you feel any pain? Can you move your foot for me?”

“Janet, we need you over by the Mr. Johnson's wife, she's panicked herself into a faint again. Oh it's you, I've been looking all over for you girl.” It was Mrs. Bedford, hiking up her skirts as she navigated the many boxes and bags to reach us.

“I'm assisting this young woman right now, Mrs. Johnson can stay fainted for now.” With that, nurse Janet turned back to me, eye brow raised and lips pursed, “Well? Are you injured? You'll do yourself no good playing hero here.”

I shook my head but before I could reply in the negative again, an RCMP officer in uniform stumbled dramatically over some of the boxes piled up near the door, drawing everyone’s attention with the noise. He looked around and sheepishly waved, “I'm okay! Sorry! Nothing to see here!” He looked around searching for someone.

“Over here Eric.” Mrs. Bedford called out. “And the girl can walk fine, found her wandering around in a daze near the tower crater, I dragged her here before she could fall in and drown. Poor thing looked lost.” I frowned in irritation as I looked up to the old woman, I wouldn't have fallen into the crater, and I did in fact know how to swim, thank you very much.

“Possible head injury then.” Nurse Janet turned back to me, her hands grabbed my head and began to feel around, I resigned myself to having no personal space until she was satisfied. “Do you have a head ache? Nausea? Any trouble seeing or dizziness when you stand?”

“Mrs. Bedford, I went down to that grey duplex on 105th street, completely flattened, the hospital asteroid no doubt,” He paused as he drew in a deep breath. I froze as Janet started to reach to the back of my skull, delicately pressing down every so often. He was describing my apartment, it was the only duplex on the street, I strained my hearing to catch what he said next. “I found Emily's brother, preschooler right, Alec Shaw? Blue eyes, blond hair? Wearing a race car shirt?” Oh god. Oh god. My mouth opened in horror as I stared at the red brown stain on my yoga pants. Big wide crystal blue eyes, a game of soccer. I was the awkward giant. Alec. Alec the little boy who picked up the soccer ball and tossed it. “... chest was crushed by something heavy, didn't stand a chance.”

The something soft that I had fallen on. The wet pants after I crawled out of the heap. I let out a long choked whimper. Little Alec pointing at asteroids in the sky.

I dry heaved.

I had crushed his little chest as I fell, it was his blood I was coated in, not paint. Good God I had killed a little boy. Little Emily Shaw sitting on the church steps waiting for her brother to come around the corner. I heaved again. Choking on the air.

-

I had two hastily gathered grocery bags, en lieu of a bucket, tossed to me by a helpful Mrs. Bedford, while Janet rubbed my still heaving back. I couldn't tell them, I couldn't let them know, I would be a murderer, my named dragged through the press. It didn't matter that it was an accident, people would want blood. I had run from my old city to escape the rumour mill, but this was worse, this was a hundred times worse. I looked around myself, at all the parents and grandparents, they would probably all attack in sudden rage if the truth came out. What could I do.

“Well, I think you have a concussion, there's some dried blood in your hair and a bump near your forehead. Nothing bleeding and you seem to be cognisant, but if you think you need it we can get a volunteer to help you to the hospital where a doctor or nurse can look at you. Keeping in mind we're in the middle of a meteor storm.” She patted me on the back one last time, “ What's your name and residence? We're trying to organize a survivor list.”

I looked up at nurse Janet, wide eyed in fear, the first real emotion they had seen on my face in over an hour. The blood I was covered in, the blue eyes, the body in front of my apartment, would they piece it all together? Panic was welling up in my chest again, the air hot and muggy. There were to many people in my corner. They were breathing all of my air.

“Miss, calm down, you're beginning to hyperventilate. Deep breaths, dear.” She held my hand, thinking it would help, it wasn't. I didn't want to be touched, I was already covered in an innocent little boys blood, I didn't want anything else even near me that was human. I backed further into my little corner, snatching my hand back from nurse Janet and tucking it behind my knees.

My knees were covered in his blood.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I needed a fake name, maybe when I met up with my father I could figure something out, have something planned. I opened my mouth again, or should I just come out and say my real name, pretend I knew nothing about Alec? I looked at my blood covered pants. Yeah, good luck with that. What about the other children, they would be able to point me out as the adult who was playing soccer with them.

Were they even alive?

I closed my mouth.

Were they dead too?

What were their names?

“Dearie, do you not remember?” Mrs Bedford asked softly, gently. I stared at her blankly, still breathing heavily. I made a horrible choked noise as I exhaled looking up at her with tears in my eyes. “That's alright dear. You looked awfully lost walking up that street. We'll find someone who knows you. It's a small town. We'll take you down to the hospital, get you all checked out. Don't you worry about a thing, dear.”

I doubted that, I had just moved here a month ago and barely left my apartment. The only people who even knew my name in this town were my landlady in Edmonton, and my father, he even bought me my groceries since I didn't own a car. An idea began to dawn on me, I could do this, I could pretend to have amnesia. I would just move to another town, escape during all the chaos, the asteroids were a perfect excuse.

I kept my mouth shut.

And dammed myself to a life of lies, I was a murder on the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you see any mistakes please notify me!


	3. Destruction, Destruction, Death

“You can have my name.” Emily Shaw said, after listing a near endless supply of girl names, most of them from my limited understanding, were the names of her favourite dolls. We were sitting on a church pew not far from the front doors, unknown to anyone in the town, I was covered in her dead brothers blood and I didn't have amnesia. Two hours after the realization that I had killed her younger brother, and I was now her babysitter. The irony of the situation was not lost on me, in a church no less.

I shook my head again, just as I had been doing for the past 20 minutes.

“I don't need a name.”

“Everyone needs a name, even a silly one.” Emily said, she seemed to be focusing all of her energy onto find me, the amnesic woman, a new name. I didn't deserve one from her, the girl who looked so much like her now dead little brother, so I had refused every recommendation. Besides, I had a name, I just couldn't using it for risk of being found guilty of murder or negligent homicide.

“Your name isn't silly.” I replied after a moment, rubbing my eyes warily, they were red and swollen from my earlier crying, I felt dead inside. I looked down at Emily, she too had red swollen eyes. She was idly picking at the white frills on her blue, dirt stained, dress, her pale face was staring blankly down at her fingers, her mind a mile away. Her broken arm was wrapped in a thick bandage hanging from a sling around her neck, Mrs. Bedford had told her the bad news about her little brother soon after the nurse had set it. She had attached herself to me right after, escaping her own problems as she tried to solve mine.

“It's a boring name.” She sighed, I had nothing to say to that, so we sat in silence. “Do you think God is punishing us all.”  
I didn't know how to answer that without breaking her little heart anymore then it already was. Meteors were falling from the sky and people were dead or dying or waiting for the Revelation. We hadn't had another touch down in over an hour in our area, but you could still see them streaking past us.

She looked up at my extended silence.

I shrugged, maybe God was punishing us all for being sinners. It certainly felt like that from where I was sitting.

 

 

That evening I was tucked into my little corner after a meal of cold baked beans out of a can, the power to the city had cut out soon after my conversation with Emily, and I hadn't been in the mood to wait in line for it to heat over the church's single barbeque. Some people had decided to return home, against the recommendations of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but others had decided to say in the church, feeling safer in greater numbers. People like myself, who were now homeless, didn't have a choice unless we wanted to sleep in rubble, and so had found little niches to sleep in, using whatever we could as a blanket or pillow.

A volunteer had left not long ago, driving down to Saskatoon city in the hopes of getting assistance, any attempts using a satellite phone failed to connect with anything, and with the majority of communication towers and phone lines were now downed, we were in a communication blackout.  
I stood up in need of fresh, untouched, air and carefully stepped over the shadowy forms of my fellow homeless neighbours, intent for the front door and the freedom it offered me. Thankfully they had been left wide open in the case of a rapid emergency evacuation, so no one would be disturbed by my insomnia, as I walked through them.

Outside an older gentleman was sitting on the stairs, he was wrapped up in a survival blanket watching the pink skies fade, he was on first night watch. I sat a little further down on the stairs from him, and leaned back until my elbows rested on the steps. I sighed loudly enjoying the smell of burning wood, even if it was a house on fire it reminded me of camping with my father, I watched as the dim light of a setting sun faded below the horizon.

“Bad day?” The man asked me jokingly. I looked back at him, his face and grey frazzled hair were still covered in soot from earlier in the day, red rimmed eyes, matching in colour to his hair, had large bags under them.

“Something like that.”  
He nodded, and turned his eyes back to the sky. We both watched as the streak of yet another asteroid passed over our heads, too far away to be a threat to the town, but still a cold reminder of our dire situation. The stars were appearing one my one, each twinkling merrily away, ignorant to our suffering.

“If you see a shooting star tonight, don't forget to make a wish.” He said sagely. I turned back to look at him, a small smile on my lips.

“Before or after it falls on us?”

We shared a smile. If mine twitched weakly, he didn't comment.

Once more we both turned back to the sky in silence. The darker the skies became, the more I saw the storm of meteors burning up in the atmosphere, a near constant flow of my childish wonders, dying before they could ever touch down. If shooting stars granted wishes, I didn't think the entire town combined, would have enough wishes to ask of them.

I unfocused my eyes from the storm above us and searched for the moon.

“Jesus, fuck.” I said under my breath as I used the stair banister to stand up swiftly in disbelief. I blinked a couple times in hopes of clearing my vision of this nightmare before me.

“Hey now young lady, we're on church grounds. Don't be using that language here.” The disgruntled man said, I could hear him moving around, the sound of his blanket crinkling as he stood up and walked toward me to see where I was looking. I pointed up at the moon. “Holy Mary-Mother of Jesus.”

Within moments of his rather loud exclamation, chaos hit the streets as everyone evacuated the church, hordes of people pushed, shoved, and screamed their way past me, knocking me down. I ducked under the metal banister and held on for dear life, I watched on in horror as a young man was trampled beneath the feet of his fellow parishioners, smashing his face into the stone steps, some of which tripped on his fallen form and down the rest of the stairs in a violent facsimile of a child’s dog pile.

A minute after realizing they weren't going to be hit by another asteroid, at least not imminently, the panicked crowed remembered themselves and began to help each other up. The young man I had watched trampled was unconscious, his dark blood staining the steps, Janet was holding his wrist looking for a pulse and checking his eyes with her pen light. Apologies were exchanged and a couple pats on shoulders were shared amongst the men, one of which turned on the man who was on night watch.

“Now what was all that about, Forest. Are we going to be hit or what?”

Forest looked down from his refuge on the stone banister, where he had leaped to safety from the frantic survivors during the violent evacuation. He looked back up to the sky, his face one of despair. One by one the noisy crowd quieted down as they looked up.

The moon, the once glorious sphere of cold heavenly white beauty‒ the companion to to the stars, my friend and muse, had a massive dark crater scarring her face, what remained of the shattered pieces were hanging like dust around her, frozen in a horrific explosion‒ waiting to drop down on earth.

I had expected the people to cry loudly, or to start screaming, but instead it was worse, they just stood in silence. This was a lot bigger than just our little town, or even just our nation.

This was global.

The boy who had had his skull smashed into the stone steps was still unconscious five minutes later, blood was pouring out of the bashed in wound. I had been volunteered to hold a rag to the bleeding wound and to help stabilize his head and neck, apparently my lack of expression was taken for professionalism rather than horrified shock. Those who might have been guilty of trampling him were desperate to assist at a safe distance and began gathering what few medical supplies the church had left. I didn't have high hopes for him surviving the rest of the night, and I could see from Janet's clenched teeth, she agreed with my unspoken prediction.

“Is he going to die?” I looked up and saw Emily watching from the top of the stairs. I don't know how long she had been there watching, but I suspected she had been there since the beginning. I looked back down at the bloody rag and my stained hands, I looked up to her.

Yes... yes he was, I thought towards her. As if hearing my thoughts she nodded her little blonde head in resignation.

“Someone, get Emily away from here!” Janet yelled out into the night as she frantically ripped open packages of gauze. I wanted to tell her to not waste her time, but I figured nurses must make some variation of the Hippocratic Oath and she was duty bound to help him until he breathed his last, or maybe she was just a better person than I am.

“It was getting stupid anyway” Emily said as she stood up and walked under her own power back into the church.

“I need a better light! Someone run to the hospital and grab a doctor, or a nurse, get more supplies while you're at it!” Janet cried out. I paused in thought asI uselessly dabbed carefully at the head wound again with the blood soaked rag. Wasn't she a nurse? She grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and began to pour it all over her hands until they dripped, we didn’t have any latex gloves left after this afternoon apparently. “Where's that light!”

The light arrived in the form of a large construction lamp, plugged into a long extension cord leading to a car parked not far from us. It was promptly forced into my hands as the man holding it turned green at the blood soaked ground and gushing wound, he ran off to the privacy of a nearby tree and began to heave. I looked down at the now fully visible head wound, which upon closer inspection was showing a cracked skull and what might be his brain. I swallowed my own immediate gag reflex and ignored the flash of Alec's eyes.

“Dammit... Dammit, we're going to loose him.” Janet sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead leaving a smear of red, “This is way outside of my normal veterinarian work. Where's that doctor?” She pulled a pair of tweezers and a cigarette lighter out of her front pocket and began heating up the metal in an attempt to cauterize the blood vessels. I focused on the young man's breathing, willing him to keep going until the doctor arrived. He began to gargle on his own saliva, the noise sent a shiver up my spine. Inhale, exhale, inhale... exhale... ...

“Drop the lamp, he's dead.” Janet rolled back onto her heels, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. It left another red smear. “Time of death is‒” She looked down at her watch, “9:51pm”

I had just watched a young man die. And I didn't really feel any different, or feel anything other than the warm wetness on my yoga pants. Should I be doing something other than sitting there looking at all the blood and bundled gauze pieces crowning his motionless head. Maybe I should say something, or would that be insensitive?

“I'm sorry.” I said to the dead body. May you forever rest in peace. I dropped the rag next to him and stood up, carefully stretching my legs. My bare feet stepped into the rapidly cooling blood puddled around his head as I took a step backwards. I was barefoot. I suppressed my shiver.  
No one attempted to revive the boy.

Didn't he have a family? Or were they also dead‒ like him?

The priest stepped out from behind me and patted me on the back as he passed me, he began to say a prayer. I tuned him out and looked down at my once again blood soaked yoga pants and my bloody feet. I brought my hands up and wiped them on my shirt as it was the only dry clothing I had left. At the rate I was going, I was going to look like a crazed mass murder.

A half hour later the volunteer who had made the mad dash to the hospital returned with a small box of gauze and medical equipment to stitch a wound closed. No doctor or nurse in sight, not that it would matter now. Janet grabbed the box and walked back into the church in silence. Her fury palatable in the air.

“Alright everyone, let's get back into your homes, or shelters. Tomorrow, Jackson Hull, our volunteer driving to Saskatoon will be back. At that time we will have a town meeting and discuss what to do next.” I looked over and saw Eric the RCMP officer herding the gathered crowd away from the dead teens body. The men were carrying him away on a makeshift stretcher made of plywood, to where I didn't know, at this point the hospital morgue must be packed to capacity.

 

 

Last night I didn't sleep much, not that I expected too after all the death and the moon’s new crater. It didn't help that I kept waking up every time someone coughed or when a baby started to cry. I grunted as I moved my stiff neck from leaning up against the wall all night. I rolled it around in hopes of releasing the tension, it didn't work. Breakfast was a cold bowl of cereal with barely any milk, and a cup of watered down instant coffee, no milk or sugar and it was lukewarm at best.

The church morning conversations were muted, but I could catch small whispers about last night’s death, and the now scarred moon. I looked down at my now dry pants, they were brown and stiff from the congealed blood. I wanted a shower, or a bucket of water to wash with. Currently we were using bottled water, procured by the city councils by-law that required all stores and individuals to give up their fresh water and food supplies in the event of an emergency. There had also been talk of boiling the water from the river if we became desperate. I was desperate enough to just jump into the river, cool early May weather be damned.

“Girl, been looking for you. You're a hard one to find without a name” Mrs. Bedford said as she walked up to my seated form on one of the pews. “Janet was just talking about a black curly haired Indian girl. All good things, don't worry. Said you were a great help last night with Peter.” She shook her head sadly at the loss of such a young life, “He wasn’t the church going type, neither were his parents,” She scrunched up her nose in distaste and looked down at me expectantly. I took the last sip out of my paper cup and raised both of my eyebrows and hummed in agreeable disbelief with her. I wasn't the religious type either, but no one would expect me to know that. My humming was enough because she immediately changed the subject. “I'll be needing your help with some supply runs, the town council has opened up the grocers and we are dividing the goods amongst the people until help arrives. Don't salvage from any of the wrecks, that's private property,” she paused and looked at my clothing, “But before all of that, maybe you should drop by the charity box and see if anything fits.”

I looked down at my ruined clothing, I guess they were beyond washing at this point. Once she had told me where to go, I tossed my cup into the waste bin and began my search for the charity bin.

It was located in the basement, and had only slim pickings. I can only assume others had already been through the box, or no one was really charitable anymore. I found a large black rain poncho with a hood and at least a dozen pockets, it was made of canvas with a rubber interior, it would do fine in the chilly morning. I pulled it from the bottom of the small pile and put it on, at least the bloody hand prints would be hidden. As for pants, there was nothing in the box but a size ten pair of jeans, which were to large even with a belt. I sighed and resigned myself to my yoga pants for a couple more nights. I did however find a pair of sandals to wear so I wouldn't have to wear the blood and mud soaked runners I had arrived in

I left the church through a side door and wandered down the street, I would look for my father while I was collecting some of the food rations, tell him where I was and my current situation. Mission in place I walked over to the closest grocer.

 

“I have a family to feed! We don't know how long this will last!” the man yelled at me, “ I already gave what I could spare to the hospital. Did you see the moon? Huh? Huh! I need to keep my family fed! If I give anything to you, they will go hungry.”

I closed my eyes and rolled my head to the heavens while walking out of the second grocer I had tried. Unlike the me of two months ago, I wasn't in any mood to pick a fight with anyone anymore. Experience had taught me that some people could not be rationalized with, they believed what they believed. Survival was a dog eat dog world to them, may the best connected individuals win. I wandered down the road, seeking out another store, this was going to be another long day.

I found myself on the bridge over the Saskatchewan River, ten disappointed minutes later.

I could jump.

But knowing my luck the spring waters probably wouldn't drown me, and I would wash up freezing cold on the shore, coughing up dirty water. I picked a small rock up off of the asphalt and threw it angrily into the raging waters below, it was lost within seconds. I settled back from the edge and looked down the bridge to Battleford, my father had been working on a job over there, so I made the decision to cross the two bridges and the small island separating the two townships, to find him.

Unlike when the two towns were fully functional and not in the middle of a disaster, the bridge had no automotive traffic, so I walked in the middle of the road. It was almost like meditation, listening to the river below, and travelling down an empty road with only your thoughts as company, and the ghost of a little boy one step behind me. I shook my head to clear it of Alec's blue eyes. I'd sort everything out with my father. He'd know what to do.  
Battleford was… well it wasn't doing much better than its northern counterpart; Except empty.

I read a sign hastily spray painted on a piece of plywood near the bridge that requested anyone in need of medical attention and/or food to remain in or travel across to North Battleford. I walked past the sign and the baseball fields, which had a crater in the middle of them, towards the construction site my father had been working on.

Which had another, much larger, crater.

I looked past the massive hole and saw his empty blue truck with the sticker proudly stating 'Scottish Pride' on its bumper. He loved his truck only a little less than his two kids. I sat on the ground and looked from the truck to the construction site, with its massive crater and its still smoking wooden remains, and back again.

Well fuck.

My eyes began to burn so I half crawled, half stumbled up to the vehicle, as if touching it might make it suddenly disappear, and tested the drivers side door.

It opened.

The smell of my father’s cologne wafted over me, I crawled into the truck and just sat for a couple seconds.

The door shut.

And I began to cry.

Snot ran from my nose and onto my new poncho, which brought my attention to the dried blood on my yoga pants, so I cried even more and looked over to the crater. It was a viscous cycle. At some point in my crying I reached into the glove box looking for tissue, only to find a box of cigarettes with a lighter tucked into it and began to laugh hysterically.

My mother was the nosy type and once found a pack of smokes in my school bag, in a rage she called up my father, whom she was divorced from, and began screaming at him about his no good daughter. He then called me and flipped out in his own rage, until I mentioned it was a friends. Which brought up the whole, “I don't like the people you're hanging around with, munchkin.” But ever since that fateful day, every phone call we had thereafter, started with the lecture of the health risks and dangers of tobacco.

Dad was a hypocrite.

Another thing he hated.

With tear soaked hands I pulled a cigarette out and defiantly lit it up with the plain purple lighter I found in the carton. The first inhale was okay, but the second and third had me coughing, I kept going. It covered up the smell of my father’s cologne and after the past days events, why the hell not?  
A knock on my window pulled me out of my nicotine daze, I looked over to see a RCMP officer, he was nodding his head to me and made a motion for me to lower the window. I couldn't, as they were electric, so I opened the door a crack.

“Hey there, saw you walking across the bridge.” He looked at my still snotty and tear stained face and smiled awkwardly, “Uh, do you mind trekking back across it? We don't want anyone on the wrong side if another impact takes out the bridges.” He bit his lip and glanced at the cigarette between my fingers and inhaled deeply.

“Want one?” I opened the door fully and handed him the pack instead of waiting for a reply, I knew the look of a nicotine addict from a mile away. I had once had enough friends who smoked to see the obvious signs.

“Oh god thank you.” He opened the pack with trembling fingers and pulled a stick out, “Got a lighter?” I handed it to him in silence, “Looters,” He said after his first inhale as way of explanation. “took all the cigarettes in the town last night, or I would have bought some.” He added.

“Shitty.”

“Tell me about it, yesterday morning I thought I would have time to buy another pack during my lunch break. That plan went to Hell. Was just getting out of the car by the Timmies when the first asteroid hit. Name’s Richard by the way, Richard Fallow.” He held the pack of smokes out for me to take, I shook my head.

“Keep it, I don't really smoke and they're bad for your health” I said as I waved them back to him.

“Thanks, and yeah, my girlfriend says the same thing to me.” He laughed and leaned up against the car, “Course with the way things are going around here, I don't expect that to matter much. Did you hear about Jackson? Got back from the city.” He looked over at me while taking another drag from his smoke, so I carefully inhaled from my own and refrained from coughing, “Said Saskatoon is worse off. A couple asteroids took down some tall buildings; hundreds are stuck under the rubble. And they've got worse looting then us.” He spat onto the ground, “If people would just stick together and help each other, we wouldn't have these problems.” He stepped away from the car and shook his head, “Come on, let’s walk back across that bridge unless you have the keys to this truck.”

“No, I don't.” I looked over to the back seat of the truck and saw my dad's old leather backpack. It was from his school boy days and was well worn with age, I grabbed it and noted the weight, I swung it onto my back and looked at the interior of the truck. He had his little notebook for work on the passenger side with a carpenters pencil lying on top. My father was probably dead, but that didn't stop me from drawing a star on his notes. It was how I used to sign my letters to him when he lived too far away to visit my brother and I. I threw my cigarette butt onto the ground and stomped it out, “I'm ready.”  
Richard smiled sadly and started the slow trek back to North Battleford.

“I don't know what's going to happen after all this. Saskatoon doesn't have any more answers then we do. And Jackson said the roads were horrible, people trying to flee the city to find loved ones across the country, not giving any thought to others on the roads. Lots of stolen vehicles, highway robberies for supplies, all of that within the first damn day. Any attempts to contact Ottawa or the military for help has failed too.” He laughed bitterly, “Kind of feels like the apocalypse, eh?”

We were without power, without communication, people were apparently looting, and the morgue was so full eventually we would have to just start burying the dead in mass graves. And our government wasn't answering their phones anymore. It certainly sounded like the apocalypse.  
“Sorry, I shouldn't be telling you all that.” He stomped out his cigarette and immediately lit another from the carton, “It's just...” He sighed and shook hishead, “I honestly don't know what the future has in store for us. None of us know what to do now.”

I looked over at his profile, he was staring down at his cigarette like it might hold the answers to all of our questions. From what my father had said about cigarettes in his many rants, all they do is cause death. And so far, in the past day and a half, I've seen more death than most people do in a life time.  
I could only hope someone came up with a solution to all of this mayhem, and fast.

* * *

 


	4. He's dead, and so is she.

 

“He's dead! Dead! He's all I had left!” We arrived back at the church, the agonized screaming of an old woman with curly grey hair welcomed us, “You murders! Arrest them! Arrest them all! Murders!” For five agonizing seconds I thought I had been found out, that someone had realized I was the one who crushed little Alec's chest. Reality hit home when I replayed her words in my panicked mind‒ murders. Plural.

What the hell was she screaming about?

“What is going on here! Where is Eric?” Richard called out, his arms were raised placating the irate woman as he looked around to the crowd, huddled by the church doors.

“They killed my Peter! He's all I had left! He's dead! Dead!” The woman ran up to Richard, pointing accusingly at the church steps, “His blood! His blood is still on the steps!” She sobbed, her entire body curling in on itself, “They're guilty!”

I looked over toward the stone steps and grimaced. Yes, there was quite a bit of blood left on the steps. With the restricted water use no one had bothered to clean it up, so the thick congealed puddle of dark red was still there, untouched by foot prints. Lovely.

“Alright now, Mrs. Lott, is it? You're his Grandmother, yes?” Richard patted her on the back and stepped to the side not waiting for an answer, “This young lady here is going to take care of you while I speak to the crowd over here, alright?”

My eyes widened a fraction in shock. Me? Comfort her? I was covered in Peter Lott's blood, I watched the boy die! I was hardl‒ The grandmother threw herself at me in tears, clinging to my new black poncho.

“He's dead! He's dead, and they all murdered him!” She cried into my shoulder, Richard mouthed a thank you in my direction and turned around to walk up the church steps, abandoning me with the crying grandmother. Some people made empathy look easy, they did all the right things, and said all the right words, and here I was praying an asteroid would smack down in the city again. I patted the grandmother on her trembling back and looked desperately for another adult to take over, when no one appeared I did what I did for Emily. I immediately began nodding my head in agreement, and twisted my face in what I hoped looked both sympathetic and understanding to the situation she was in. 

I still felt like an idiot.

More so, since I knew my pants had Peter Lott's blood on them. Did this make me an accomplice to the panicked crowd? Best not mention it then, I thought to myself as Mrs. Lott sobbed away. 

I looked up to see Janet walking toward us, stumbling every so often as she stepped over some debris, her red hair tied up in a messy bun with dark purple bruises under her eyes, thankfully her forehead was cleaned of any blood from last night. Eric was right behind her, trying to look tough with his chest puffed up and hands on his utility belt, and failing, he just looked far to boyish to achieve the tough RCMP officer look. 

“Mrs. Lott? My name is Janet Goldwatch, I was with your grandson when he died.” Janet said when she was close enough, “would you like to come with me, and we can talk.”

“Are you his nurse?” Mrs. Lott sobbed as she turned her face away from my wet shoulder, she was still clinging to me, or rather to the poncho I was wearing. 

“No, Mrs. Lott...” Janet looked nervously towards Eric, who in turn shifted from one foot to the other, she took a deep breath, “I'm a veterinarian.”

I was holding a bomb. A nuclear bomb. That's the only way I could describe the sudden tension in the air, the stiff human being holding onto my newly acquired poncho, the stillness in her once frantic heaves for air. I swallowed and turned my face toward the very still grey head resting on my shoulder.

“A veterinarian? A veterinarian treated my boy?” Mrs. Lott asked quietly, calmly, too calmly I thought. Something was going to happen, and I was still being held hostage by her hands. Her voice took on a shrill quality as it rose in volume, “What right did you have to help my boy! You butcher! You hacked his head open didn't you! I knew a fall on the stairs couldn't have killed him! It was you! You're just as bad as the rest of those soulless invertebrates! He's not an animal! He's my boy!”

“Mrs. Lott! It was an accident. Please calm yourself down and lets talk about this rationally like adults. I understand you have lost a family member, we all have. We are in the middle of a country wide emergency, Ms.Goldwatch was the best chance your grandson had at surviving.” Eric stepped forward, carefully positioning himself in front of the now very angry grandmother, calmly he continued “I saw the wound myself, she did everything she could to help him, but that kind of head wound, even in the best of circumstances, has a high mortality rate.”

She made an awful growling noise and clutched my poncho even closer to herself looking me straight in the eye. Her warm morning breath blew over my face as she whispered, “They're murders, all of them. They killed my boy. You understand don't you. You understand that what they did is unforgivable.” 

I froze, holding my breath, not only because her breath really did stink, but because I had no idea how to reply to her without damming myself. 

Don't ever look away from a predator, Munchkin. My father's words echoed as I was forced to hold the woman's stare. She had light brown eyes with small dots of hazel, her eye lashes were as grey as her hair. They would have been beautiful had they not had the shimmering light of insanity in them. Heart racing, I breathed out softly, “Mrs. Lott, did you know that if Pinocchio said 'My nose will grow now' it would create a paradox?” 

“What?” Her face temporarily lost the insane glimmer to stare at me, puzzled at my unexpected response, she released her hold on me. I stepped out of her reach and shrugged not knowing what else to say. 

Remain calm, make no sudden movements, if they have you in a tight situation use shock to your advantage to get away. I'm pretty sure what dad actually meant was use an air horn, or taser, but I didn't have either of those and the only thing running through my head was Pinocchio's nose. 

She kept watching me confused, before turning on Eric. “I'll be back to deal with this!” She turned around and marched determinately down the road. 

I looked toward Eric, his right hand was slowly leaving his firearm, its holster unclipped. Richard was right behind him warily watching Mrs. Lott marching away. 

“Adams, put a BOLO out on one Mrs. Mary Lott. I want eyes on her at all times until things cool down around here. I don't like how she looked when she left.” Richard said, he looked over to me his expression one of complete seriousness, “What did you two talk about? Do you know where she's going?”

“She was ranting about the people in the shelter, and no, I have no idea” I said, I fluffed out my poncho in an attempt to erase her grip from it and blinked repeatedly to clear her stare from my vision. I turned around and watched as Mrs. Lott turned a corner and out of view. 

“Good Lord, come along Miss, let's get you inside with a warm cup of something. I think we both deserve it after that.” Janet said as she waved me over. Not knowing what else to do, I followed. Besides, I could really do with another coffee right about now. 

 

“Horrible thing to happen. I didn't sleep a wink last night, if you couldn't already tell.” She exhaled loudly and laughed, “I've been up all night, and morning, wondering where I went wrong with Peter.” Janet shook her head sadly as she made a pot of coffee over the barbeque, next to someone's baby formula. “Veterinarian schooling is tough, very competitive, brutal even. It's an information dump. You need to be everything, the pharmacist, the doctor, the radiologist, the dentist. You're everything all rolled into one.” I stood there watching as she spoke with her hands cutting though the air frantically, “Don't get me wrong, loosing someone's pet is heart breaking... But one of your own species... Someone you spoke to earlier in the evening.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes, “It fucking sucks. He was so god damn young. Am I a murder, I don't have a licence to treat humans, does that make what I did wrong?”

“If you did nothing, you would be a murder. You're not.” I said watching the percolating coffee. I was though. Life sucked, everything sucked, Peter, was probably one of the lucky ones. God only knew what was in store for us. I was now a murder, fatherless, homeless, possibly townless, I didn't even know if my mother or brother were still alive, let alone the rest of my family on the coast. All of my friends in my old city thought I was a lying whore, and to top things off, I was covered in the blood of a dead little boy and teenager. Life sucked. 

“Thank you.” She pulled the coffee off of the barbeque and set it down on the picnic table. “Coffee is served.” She smiled brilliantly, “This morning's coffee was shit, instant stuff should have been outlawed the minute it was burned into existence.” We both sat down and pulled a paper cup from the stack, and began to divide the coffee between ourselves. Its rich earthy aroma immediately relaxed me with its familiarity. There was no cream on the table, or anywhere in sight, but I couldn't have cared less as I took the first sip. I closed my eyes in appreciation. Someone sat down next to me with a huff. 

“Grocers gave you a hard time?” Mrs Bedford asked, “Don't worry, Tommy was able to get enough food for the next day for all of us, and we have the donation box here at the church. What ever happened to community support? Greed festering among the people. You would think this was the end of the world. Absolute nonsense!” She settled a large leather book down on the table and pushed it towards me. “Here, found this in my basement. It's not much, but I think you will find some use for it. It might help you remember your past if you write down your dreams and thoughts. Had a journal just like it when I was a little girl.” 

I picked up the book, with both of my hands, in shocked wonder. It was made of a thick plain leather with a tie wrapped around an old antique button keeping it closed. I inspected the button, running my fingers over the design, the image of a cherub flying in front of a cross was carefully crafted out of the pewter. I unwound the tie to see thick high quality cream parchment paper, yellowed along the edges with age. This journal would be worth a lot of money. And was probably very old.

“Is this‒ I can't accept this.” I tried to give the book back .

“Nonsense girl! It was in my basement and I don't have the knack for writing, that was my late husbands. And I never had any children of my own, so you are free to take it. I'm not getting any younger.” She laughed, “besides, I probably have more of those lying around in the attic.” She patted my hand and turned to Janet, “Now, what did I hear about Mary Lott causing a scene?”

The two women gossiped while I opened the journal once more and stared at the first page. I didn't need to be an artist to see the fine craftsmanship and the precise stitches making up the binding. I ran my fingers gently over the page feeling its texture, this paper would take ink beautifully. 

“Tha‒”

“Where is she! Where is that soulless witch who killed my grandson!” A gunshot ripped through the air, echoing off of the buildings. Janet was looking over my shoulder in horror. “All of you murders!”

“Get down Janet, get down and hide under the table!” Mrs. Bedford panicked whisper cut through the screams and crashing furniture, “Don't you dare stand up Girl! You'll make a target of yourself.” She grabbed me by my right arm, tugging me into her chest, clutching my face to her breasts. “Everything is going to be alright, the police will be here, Adams or Fallows are in the area. Everything will be alright.”

Another gun shot ripped through the air.

A cry of agony cut through the panicked screams.

“Please don't, please don't, I have a baby girl! Please have mercy!” A young woman's voice cried out, I tired to look towards her, but Mrs. Bedford clutched me closer to her chest, tucking her own face into my hair.

“You killed my boy.” Mrs. Lott's shrill voice cried out.

Another gun shot echoed off of the church building.

Silence.

I closed my eyes during the long pause attempting desperately to collect myself. the gun was being reloaded. This was the moment to escape. I looked below the picnic table, and saw Janet crouched using our bodies as cover, I couldn't escape. If I ran she would be seen. I bit my lip and watched her large eyes staring at me in terror. 

Don't move, they said. Please, they begged. 

I froze watching her.

“Where is she Pinocchio? Where is that red haired witch.”

For the first time in over two months, I clung to another human being and didn't want to let go. Mrs. Mary Lott's was standing next to us, I couldn't see her as my face was pointing in the wrong direction, I had no doubt that the barrel was pointed right at us. I relaxed into Mrs. Bedford still staring straight at Janet. Her eyes were welling up with tears. 

“Where is she Pinocchio?”

I knew the moment Janet Goldwatch was found by Mrs. Lott. Janet's eyes just looked to the left of my shoulder, just like Alec's, and paused for a long moment as her face twisted in grief. Without any warning a shot was fired and Janet's hazel green eyes sought mine in her last moments. Her face disappeared in a flash of red.

“Police freeze!”

What happened next, I don't know. I was watching Janet's head splatter against the grass, the picnic table, some of it even hit myself and Mrs. Bedford. It was silent in the world again, the ringing was like deja vu, I could feel the splatter on my poncho, it felt like the rain. 

Rain is beautiful. It cleans the air of all the toxins, brings with it the smell of wet asphalt and earth. It was my favourite smell. If you could bottle that scent, I would buy every bottle. 

Realization shot through me as the elderly woman holding me to her ample breast began to scream. I braced my feet into the earth and pushed in a mockery of a rugby tackle, I brought Mrs. Bedford down to the ground. Shouldn't it be more muddy? Wait no, that was blood, not rain. I forced her into the hard packed earth and flipped myself around so that I could see Mrs. Lott standing over us. 

She was holding her rifle up against her shoulder, using a hunting scope to aim at the two uniformed men 15 metres away. Without thinking I raised my right leg, and kicked her knee out as she readied her first shot. She roared in fury, twisting around to face me, her rife falling with her, aimed right at my chest. 

Shots where fired.

I closed my eyes to the muted noise, my ears still ringing from Mrs. Lott's first shot. 

More rai ‒ no, blood. More blood fell on me, and a heavy body. Or was it the body and then the blood? I was confused so I opened my eyes. A single brown hazel dotted eye was staring at me from atop my chest, lifeless. Blood and a clear fluid was seeping out of the other socket, a kill shot. Another bullet wound was below the now wide open mouth, caving her jaw in. It was a massive bloody mess, it was made worse by the teeth scattered around the bullet hole. I think I was wearing some of them along with half her blood. I rolled Mrs. Lott's dead body off of me and puked

I don't like the taste of coffee anymore.

 

“We're leaving. Heading down to the states.” It was like being black out drunk but worse, I came too in what I suspected, with it's antique furniture and pristine surfaces, was Mrs. Bedford's house. I must have followed her in a daze, because I honestly don't remember getting there. I nodded my head as I watched her shove the entire contents of her wardrobe into a suitcase. “Out back I have a pool, go there and clean yourself up, soap and shampoo are in the bathroom to your right. Don't drink the water outside, it's dirty and I have bottled stuff in the truck.”

I nodded again and left her bedroom in autopilot. The entire upstairs was carpeted in a once creamy white, it now had bloody foot prints and splatter all over it from my clothing and sandles. I opened the door to the right of me and saw the stark clean white bathroom with light grey tile. I mechanically gathered the soap, shampoo and conditioner, and as an after thought, I grabbed one of the towels and face cloths. I made my way downstairs to the pool. Making sure to not dirty the white towel with the still wet blood on my poncho. I dropped everything I was carrying onto the walkway next to the pool and began to undress.

Taking my clothes off was more of a challenge then I thought it would be, as the majority of the cloth was now stuck to my skin with dried blood. Some of it was still wet. 

I let out a shuttered breath as Mrs. Lott's bloody face flashed before my eyes. 

I closed my eyes and lay back on the concrete and looked up at the cloudy sky. What time was it? What was happening? What was I doing? How long has it been since my apartment blew up? I lifted my hips and tugged my old yoga pants off, ripping them from my flesh in places, and tossed them into the water along with my the poncho. My shirt followed. I lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, naked. Eventually I crawled my way to the green depths, goosebumps covered my skin as I entered the freezing water. This all felt like a horrible nightmare and I would just wake up from it. 

I mockingly laughed at myself, a dream? This wasn't a dream anymore.

I pulled the soap to myself and began to wash myself with the face cloth until my skin turned red, I still didn't feel clean,. I used more shampoo than was probably necessary and watched as the suds turned a light pink. I dunked myself below the surface of the cold water, and repeated the shampooing over and over until the suds turned white. I was shivering and blue by the time I pulled myself out and onto the white fluffy towel. I dragged my poncho out of the water, any traces of blood now gone, I hung it off of the back of a lawn chair and tried to reach for my floating yoga pants and shirt.

“Don't bother. Those are filthy. I grabbed some clothes from my neighbours for you. I'm sure God will forgive me for the theft... if he's still up there.” I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to hear the last part as she had said it under her breath, I wisely didn't say anything. She handed me a pair of well used leather pants, carefully patched and cared for, “Mrs. Brommer won't mind, seeing as she's dead. She used to go out on hunting expeditions with her husband. Those are the pants she would wear, made with some of the elk and deer she caught. Said they were lucky.” She pulled an orange running shirt off of her arm and handed it to me, “here, built in bra so you don't have to wear the old one. You both are similar in build so they should fit.” 

I slipped into the cool leather pants, soft with age, they fit well enough, wherever they were too tight they would stretch with use, the running shirt was constrictive with its elastic and a little uncomfortable. I was by no means large chested, which made me suspect the late Mrs. Brommer must have been much more slender than myself. It was an odd outfit, but I wasn't going to complain now that I was out of the blood and memory soaked clothing I had been wearing for the past two days.

I followed after Mrs. Bedford with my flip flops and poncho in both of my hands, I left the bathing items outside seeing no point in carrying them inside if we weren't coming back. I walked right up to a large old red truck that had seen better years, its rusted wheel wells looked like they might just crumble away and take the rest of the vehicle with it. Some of the paint was peeling off, leaving me with a strong childish desire to start picking at it until it was all gone. My father would have had a heart attack at how this truck was cared for. I closed my eyes in grief at my memory of him.

“Get in the truck, we need to get Emily. There's no way I'm leaving her in this town. Not with how things are falling apart!” Mrs. Bedford had a manic look in her eyes as she frantically tossed her things into the bed of the truck, leaving a long hard plastic case in her left hand, at my questioning look she said, “it's a rifle. It's not safe here anymore,” she handed me a long hunting knife from her waist, “Hide this in your shirt, and don't hesitate to use it.” 

I looked down at the knife, one side had the marks of long hours of sharpening, the other had an inch of serrated edges followed my a long dull edge leading all the way down a well polished wooden pummel. I kept looking at it as I was shoved into the truck, only looking away long enough to put my seat belt on. 

“Now, when we get to the church I'm going to bring little Emily with me, you pretend nothing is wrong. No sudden movements, you hear? People are scared right now, they all have their hunting guns, you saw what happened earlier, nothing good will come of it. Just more bloodshed, more dead people. You stay calm, I'll get us out of here. We'll get to Saskatoon, sort our stuff out, and if you want, you can follow me down to the states where I have family. We'll come back if things settle down” She clutched my thigh while she looked at me, I was watching her out of the corner of my eye, still looking down at the knife. “I need you to talk now, I know Ja‒ I know you saw her die, you're still in shock, and I know you watched that horrible woman go too... but I need you to be strong for Emily.”

“Why?”

“Because that little girl likes you, and she's seen enough horror in this town. Be strong for her.” She replied as she opened the truck door ready to jump out. That wasn't my question. 

“No, why are you helping me?” I asked, I wanted to start crying, why would someone help me when I was just a stranger without a name. 

“Because that is what good Catholics do, that's what good Humans do, we help each other in times of crisis. Because you are a young woman without a family and all alone in this world. Because you have a good head on your shoulders when the going gets tough, and Emily likes you.” She started the truck with a rumbling roar, we lurched down the road toward the church.

Her words came back to me in the silence as we drove down the road, swirving around the brick and wood that covered parts of it,  _ if _ things settled down. I looked out the window, half the houses had some type of damage on them, broken windows, missing roofs or walls, some were still on fire, did asteroids really do all of this? I turned my eyes down the road toward our current destination, everything just felt so weird now, like it was happening to someone else and I was just an observer. It must be the shock, I thought to myself. The truck stopped in front of the brick Roman Catholic Church, the engine was turned off.

“Lock the doors, and keep an eye out for trouble, I'll be right back with Emily and whatever food I can grab.” With that she shut the truck door and ran up the steps to the church, jumping over the old blood from Peter. It felt like ages ago that he died in my arms, or the moon having a new crater on it, the meteor shower that lasted all night... I looked to the left of the church where I had sat with Janet for coffee.

The bodies were still there.

I opened the passengers side door and dry heaved. When I was finished I closed the door, locking it, I clutched the knife closer to me. I looked down the street and saw men with rifles in their hands, some of them were fighting with each other, from the gestures and yelling I guessed it was about the food supplies. I sunk down in my seat and shifted the knife into my right hand, blade resting against my forearm, I felt paranoid thinking they would suddenly turn around and point their guns right at my head and fire. I could feel a panic attacking coming so I rolled down the window a bit and took deep measured breaths, calming myself. I prayed the men wouldn't come over to ask questions about what I was doing. My heart leapt into my throat as the drivers side door suddenly opened. It was Mrs. Bedford helping Emily into the truck.

“Alright then, Emily you get in first okay. Back seat, careful with those bags now, that's all the food I could grab from the charity box for us.” Mrs. Bedford began pushing Emily into the back seat, “Girl, you keep an eye on the street. We don't want any trouble. You tell me if they look like they are coming here.” 

I glanced down the road toward the previously fighting group and saw a couple of them looking in our direction and pointing, “I think someone noticed the bags of food you stole.” I whispered. Emily stepped on my seat as she scrambled behind me, her soft grunts as she dragged the bags back with her, eyes wide in terror as she looked at the group walking towards us. Mrs. Bedford jumped in with the last bag on her lap, slamming the truck door loudly. She turned the key in the ignition.

Please God, if you are listening, please do not making this a Hollywood movie and have the truck stall. I thought to myself as the ignition stuttered, the truck rumbled to a start. I glanced back at the group of men, they were running and yelling something, I couldn't hear them over the roar of the truck. Mrs. Bedford threw something onto my lap along with the last bag of food and floored it. Her lips were thin, jaw clenched as she gripped the steering wheel. She squinted her eyes as she swerved around the angry men and drove onto the old chain link fence from the water tower, and down my old street. One of the men pointed his gun in the air and fired it, trying to get our attention. Mrs. Bedford just drove faster. 

The road here was only covered in small debris which I was thankful for. I don't know what those men would have said if they saw what might be the entire food charity box in the back seat with Emily. I looked out the drivers side window just in time to see the remains of my old duplex. It was completely flat, a trail of destruction leading towards the hospital, half of which I could see was gone. 

How the Hell did I survive that?

“I hope you have your seat belt on Emily” I looked up and saw a road block of sorts ahead, I glanced behind and saw Emily scrambling to clip the seatbelt around her dress, but her one working hand was shaking to much. I unclipped from my own and dropped the knife and whatever was on my lap onto the floor to assist. “Brace yourself, Girl.” The truck swerved to the right, I held Emily by her blue dress to prevent her from flying into the window and further injuring her broken arm. A horrible crashing noise you could feel more than hear filled the truck as we forced our way through the wooden barrier. I wedged myself between the passenger and driver seats as my body was thrown first forwards, and then backwards. In one frantic moment as I was forced forwards onto Emily's lap I grabbed hold of her seatbelt and clipped it in. I let myself fall backwards onto the dashboard and flipped myself into my seat, relaxing my back against the cushioned back rest. I was lucky the gear shift was next to the steering wheel, I thought as I put my seatbelt on, I hadn't even considered the danger of accidentally shifting the gears while driving. I looked further down the road, it was clear of any debris, I allowed myself a small smile. We had just left the city. 


	5. The List

 

We passed a couple small communities on route to Saskatoon, most of them were newly abandoned judging by their boarded up windows and doors, but one of them had rifle wielding men and women telling everyone to keep moving on. “We don't want any trouble here, you look for help elsewhere.” They said, looking somewhat guilty when they noticed we were a truck of two women and a child, “We can't risk any new people in the community, sorry, some looters came through earlier and caused some real trouble for us”

“We're headed down to Saskatoon, just driving through.” Mrs. Bedford said softly, after rolling down her window. “Got any news of it?”

“Saskatoon? Yeah, had some family come up from there. It's not good. That's where the looters came from, they've apparently got some gang violence going on too, along with general mischief, police can't do much anymore if you ask me, more people then cops eh. Might as well be the apocalypse,” He laughed leaning on his rifle, “ The Red Cross has set up at the airport just off of the 16. I'm sure things will calm down in a day or two once the government gets off their lazy asses.” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “You keep safe now, it's not safe at night for women.”

“Thank you sincerely, sir. We're headed down there and then off to the states. I've got family down there.” Mrs. Bedford said as she began to roll up the window. The man stepped back waving her through the sand bag barricade.

 

It was the thick black smoke that you could see first, billowing up from the general direction of where Saskatoon was. We were still too far out to be able to see anything clearly, but the rising tower of black was foreboding and did not sit well with any of us. Mrs. Bedford parked the truck on the side of the awfully empty highway and turned to me. 

“You got that knife still?” She asked me, her grip on the steering wheel was tense, her lips pulled into a stern line. I looked down at my feet and moved the bag of canned food and saw the leather bound book she had given me earlier in the day, there was blood splattered all over it. I swallowed and pushed it to the side with my foot, the knife was under it. I picked it up carefully and showed it to her. She nodded. “Under your seat there is a large first aid box, grab it. Emily, give the girl her bag.”

I looked up startled as Emily pushed my fathers leather bag onto my lap with her good arm, I had forgotten about it in all the chaos. I looked back at Emily with her big dull blue eyes and smiled weakly in thanks, one side of her mouth twitched up before she looked down at her lap.

“Make a sheath out of duct tape and tie the knife to your body with the bandage rolls. Put it somewhere you can reach it safely, but keep it hidden. You're not looking for trouble, so don't act like it. You should also take one of everything out of the first aid bag, and put them into the glove compartment, keep the rest in your bag just in case we get separated.” Mrs. Bedford said sternly, she stared at me with one eyebrow raised, much like my own mother would do while giving me important instructions she thought I wasn't paying attention too.

“Okay.” I whispered and set the knife under the leather bag so I could do as instructed, Mrs. Bedford pulled off of the side of the road and headed towards the rising black smoke.

I opened my fathers bag and looked at the contents curious as to its weight, it was his bird watching gear, binoculars, notepad and pen, torch, and his North American bird watching book. I inhaled deeply, this was all I had left of my father, just the smell of his horrible cologne, I let out a shuttered breath and focused on the passing trees until I had settled myself down. In a sudden movement, much like ripping a bandage off, I reached under my seat and pulled out the bright red first aid bag and opened it. I tossed one of everything into my fathers bag, keeping one of the rolls of tenser bandages out for myself along with a roll of the duct tape I found in the front pocket, everything else was shoved into the empty glove compartment.

“Good girl,” Mrs. Bedford grabbed one of my hands in her own and squeezed it, “You only use that knife in defence of yourself or someone else. And aim to kill. There are no second chances in this world.”

“Mrs. Bedford?” I looked over at her in shock, Emily made a small noise in the back seat.

“I'll speak to you tonight when we reach the shelter. Just keep the knife close to you.” And that was all she said. We sat in silence as we drove closer and closer to the black smoke.

 

We arrived to thousands of people camped out around the airport, living in tents or under strung up sheets. Police officers and big muscled men and women were wandering between the rows with stern expressions, they carried guns, knives and in one case a baseball bat. The black smoke I had been watching since it became visible in the sky was the downtown of Saskatoon, hit with a large asteroid, all the buildings were crumbling, windows shattered, bricks or decorative exterior falling off. The roads in the city were only navigable only by foot, whatever cars were in the area were now living spaces for families.

And then I saw the bodies. 

They lined the roads, stripped bare of all clothing and valuables, piles of wood stuffed between them, under them, and above them. Awaiting someones match or lighter. I sunk into my seat as Mrs. Bedford slowed the truck down as an officer walked up to the window.

“Where are you coming from?” He asked, he was nothing like Richard who was stern but friendly, or Eric with his boyish good looks, this man looked like he was five seconds away from shooting his gun at us.

“Coming down from Battleford, just looking for temporary shelter. We're headed to–“ 

“You supply your own food and water, and your own shelter. You cause trouble, we shoot first. You need medical help, you better be dying. First Aid is in the airport. You see trouble, you find one of us,” The officer pointed to his left arm with a white strip of linen was tied, “And we will deal with it. No heroics, no weapons. Keep to yourself and we'll all get along fine.” 

Mrs. Bedford nodded and slowly drove the truck down the rest of the highway off ramp and parked it on an open part of the sidewalk. 

“This isn't anything like home.” Emily said, voicing what all of us were thinking. 

“No, it isn't. But it will be a safe place to sleep for a couple days until we figure out what we are doing.” Mrs. Bedford unbuckled her seat belt and glanced at me, “You stay with Emily, stay as close to the truck as possible, here's my spare keys, keep the doors locked at all times. I'm going to find out what's going on around here.” 

She got out of the truck, tossed me her spare keys and locked her door as she closed it behind her. She began walking toward where all the tents were and soon disappeared. I looked toward the backseat where Emily was still sitting, her broken arm cradled in her lap. 

“Do you want to step outside for a bit?” I asked, she looked over to where Mrs. Bedford had disappeared, and then glanced back at me nodding. I unbuckled myself and opened the passenger door but her small hand clutching my arm stopped me.

“Do you have your knife?” I smiled weakly at her tentative voice and lifted part of the orange running shirt, showing my makeshift knife holster. It said a lot about current events when a ten year old is asking after a weapon meant to kill someone. “Okay.” 

She crawled out from the back seat, tugging a black mass behind her. 

“You should wear this, just in case someone sees the bump.” Emily said quietly, looking around carefully for eavesdroppers, there were none. She handed me my black rain poncho, I couldn't refute her logic so I put it on quickly and helped her down from the trucks elevated height. Once on the sidewalk, she refused to let go of my hand. 

“Does your arm hurt? There was some ibuprofen in the kit.” I asked as I prepared to lock the door, she shook her head in denial. I had no doubt she was in pain, her little lips were pale and her eyes were glassy with tears, but I wouldn't force the issue. I tucked the keys into one of the many pockets of my poncho and looked around wondering what to do. There was a sad little city tree not far from us, but far enough from the tents so as to not intrude on anyone, I walked towards it and sat with Emily. After a couple minutes of silence, Emily leaned over and rested her head on my lap, startled I looked down and saw silent tears falling from her eyes. I rested my hand on her little blond head and began carding my fingers through her hair, just like my mother used to do when I was sick. We didn't speak. And for once, I didn't feel awkward comforting someone, just horribly exhausted and weary. 

I watched the tents waiting for Mrs. Bedford to return, contemplating what I should do. Should I follow Mrs. Bedford and Emily down to the United States and wait until it was safe to contact family? Return to my old hometown, Ottawa, or Petawawa to hopefully find my mother? Or try to find my father's family on the coast? I hit my head on the small tree trunk a couple times, hoping the answer would come to me soon.

“New around here? Saw you pull up with your Gran.” I startled from my thoughts, as an older teen walked up to Emily and I, hands in his pockets, trying to look older then he was. It was his lack of beard that gave him away and his hair cut; or rather it was the greasy, dirty, blond flop that hung over his left eye. “Cute kid” He nodded his head toward Emily and sat down, uninvited, across from me. I looked down at my lap and noticed she was sleeping, her little head tucked into my stomach, my long fingers tangled in her hair. I nodded in agreement, and then ignored him, looking at the ever changing black smoke behind him. I didn't feel like being social.

“Happened within a couple hours.” He said, pointing with his thumb blindly behind him in the general direction of the rising smoke. “People just went nuts when news got out about the Mayor.” Startled I looked over to him, seeing my sudden interest he leaned forward, a grin spread across his lips. “ Mr. Mayor made a no show at the city emergency action meeting, officials say not a scrap of clothing or personal stuff left in his home. Looked like he'd been gone for awhile too, fridge was empty and no one had seen him in two days. Suspicious eh? Probably knew about all this, has some fancy underground bunker in the Rockies or something.” He leaned back, resting on his arms, and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh.” I didn't know what else to say so I just sat there watching him. 

“Yeah, after news got out about the Mayor, didn't take long for shit to hit the fan. I mean, folks started freaking out before the asteroids were even done falling, but after that, well... this here,” He nodded his head in the direction of all the tents, “Is the only safe place... well safer then over there,” He pointed behind him with his thumb again, a cruel smile crossed his lips, “Over there you got the looters, gangs, and bad lot. Over here, you got the power tripping police and whatever is left of the city councillors. I'm sure you got the whole, shoot first ask later talk from the guards... yeah they're not kidding.”

“That's,” I paused as I looked for the right words, “Unfortunate.” I finished with a shrug.

“Yeah, yeah, but it keeps the folk in line. Should have seen earlier this morning, people stabbing each other for a can of beans or bottle of water.” He laughed, the cruel smile widened, “folk like them don't know how to live without their fancy politicians. What about you?”

I shrugged, politicians did all the thinking and scheming for us. I would like to think we could live without them, or some sort of governing body, but Battleford, and now Saskatoon proved that the masses apparently had trouble with it. I sighed, perhaps it was different elsewhere. 

“You got a weapon?” He asked. I stared at him in silence, I wasn't stupid enough to tell anyone I had just met that I had a hunting knife hidden under my poncho. I was born and raised in a big city, ran the streets with my pack of friends drinking and smoking pot until the late hours of morning since I was fourteen. I wasn't a street kid like he obviously was, but I had enough common sense not to trust anyone. “Good answer. Name's Jack.”

“I don't have a name.” I replied to his questioning look. I wasn't about to break cover for a curious street kid.

“Then make one up.” He said, crossing his legs. I continued to stare at him hoping he got the hint and left. “Everyone has a name. Even shitty ones.”

I snorted, he almost sounded like Emily. I rolled my eyes and looked back at the cloud of ever changing black smoke. Perhaps I would go back toward Eastern Canada and find my mother and brother, I would even accept my step father at this point, I was getting tired of covering up my lie and I wanted to see a familiar face in all of this mess. 

Jack left after an hour of silence, shrugging his shoulders and telling me he would be around. I continued to sit there with Emily, afraid to wake her. I looked down at her little face, a crease between her little blond eyebrows the only show for her pain, I patted her on the head again. What a fucked up world this was.

“Girl, how long has she been sleeping?” I looked up and saw Mrs. Bedford warily sitting down next to me, grunting softly as her back protested. 

“An hour or so.” I whispered. 

“We'll be staying for a day or two here, at least until things settle down a bit.” She patted my knee, “Apparently they got the first asteroid at 9am, hit downtown and triggered a series of gas explosions, that's where the black smoke is coming from, took out four blocks and shattered all the glass in the city.” I looked toward– my friend?– she looked every one of her years. Her grey hair was frazzled, her face appeared to have gained a couple more wrinkles, and her posture seemed to be folding in on itself. I hated to share my own bad news.

“Met a local, said the Mayor appeared to have known about the asteroids. His house was empty of any personal items and his fridge empty, people haven't seen him in over two days before the accident.” I murmured to the ground.

“I see.” Mrs. Bedford sat there in silence with me for a couple more minutes, “It's not just here, apparently the phone lines stayed open long enough in Regina to contact Ottawa. They were able to get through to someone, the person on the other end mentioned they could see the asteroids, but none of them had hit near them yet. More concerning however, is that they mentioned a very large asteroid entering the atmosphere and going north, we don't know where it touched down. Only that if it did, it would not be good.” 

I stared blankly at the rising black smoke, just as I had been doing for the past hour. I don't think anything would be going back to normal anymore, I thought to myself as I hit my head on the tree trunk again.

 

As night began to fall, the random patrols started to force people into their tents, cars, or ramshackle shelters, a curfew was in place. I carefully roused Emily and lead her back into the old red truck, clearing a small space in the back seat for her to make a bed and get a proper sleep. 

“You'll be here when I wake up right?” She asked me sleepily, I smiled softly at her and patted her on the head again while nodding, “Promise?”

“Promise.” Here I was, the accidental murderer of her younger brother, promising her I would be there in the morning. I felt dirty for having any type of affection for the small little girl. Emily closed her eyes, using Mrs. Bedford's luggage as a pillow. 

“Are you tired?” Mrs. Bedford asked me as she handed me a granola bar, we were rationing the food. 

“No.” I answered truthfully, I had seen far too many dead bodies to feel even slightly tired right now, and if I focused on my sense of smell, I could almost smell burning bodies on the wind along with all the smoke. I wouldn't be sleeping for awhile I suspected.

“Take first watch then, sit in the bed of the truck or on the roof, doesn't matter. I don't trust those police officers to keep an eye on things. Four or five hours, then come and wake me.” She handed me a bottle of water and a small key, “It's for the lock case, it has the rifle.” 

I nodded and reached into the passengers side of the truck to grab my bag and the journal, I would need something to do. I chose to sit in the bed of the truck, tucked under my poncho I sat watching the curfew enforcers walking around the tents and vehicles with their torches out and hands on either their guns, or batons. I listened to the soft breathing of both Emily and Mrs. Bedford through the open back window by my head, and just lost myself in thought. 

It was a beam of light from one of the torches that startled me out of the my thoughts, I glanced over to the police officer or enforcer, whatever they were called, and frowned. He just snuffed his nose in my direction and continued on.

Asshole.

I glanced down at my lap to the blood splattered journal. Earlier I had tried to wipe the blood away, but it had soaked into the leather, leaving a morbid story on it. I opened to the first page and stared at the heavy parchment paper with speckling along on the edges from the blood that stained its cover. The first page of any book was important, it was the first thing anyone saw when they opened it, it was what you would judge the rest of the book on. It needed to be special. This was my journal, it would need to be important to me. 

I pulled out the pen my father had left with his bird watching gear and uncapped it.

I wrote carefully in the centre of the page, using every bit of my artistic ability to ensure the line of text was elegant and legible. A moment later I capped my pen and stared blankly at the line of text I had just dedicated the entire book too.

Alec Shaw, Battleford, 05/04/2015

 

It was six, or maybe seven hours, it was hard to tell without a clock, before I woke up Mrs. Bedford for her shift. I stopped her getting ready for her part of the watch by mentioning I was nowhere near sleep, and could go on until dawn– insomnia's a bitch. I fully expected to have a long drawn out verbal debate on why I should take the entire night, but she was either more exhausted then I suspected, or not fully awake. I suspect it was the latter. 

I took my spot back on the bed of the truck and watched as the clouds slowly blew in from the north, slowly covering up the newly scarred moon. I didn't open up the book again, didn't even look at it, I just sat watching the clouds and the still rising black smoke from downtown Saskatoon. When I was bored watching the dark grey clouds I tuned my ears to my surroundings, the whispers, the baby crying, and the soft steps of the night enforcers. At some point in the night I realized I was going to travel east, toward Petawawa. It wasn't a startling moment, or a eureka moment, it was a quiet acceptance. A fact. 

When I see my mother I will tell her I love her with all of my heart.. 

 

“I don't like the sight of those clouds,” Mrs. Bedford said in way of greeting in the early morning light. She handed me a cup of cereal with powdered milk sprinkled on top, “Add some of your water ration if you want liquid milk.” 

I poured some of my left over water, from my night watch, on top of the cereal and ate it while looking up at the now beige overcast sky. I agreed with Mrs. Bedford. Everything seemed to have an awful brownish haze to it now, and the smell of dust was thick in the air, almost, covering up the smell of burning from downtown. I had a more pressing matters however, I needed to go to the bathroom. 

“Do you know if they have any working bathrooms around here?” I asked, looking around our little section in hopes an outhouse would just pop up out of the tents.

“Head towards the airport, they have some porta potties there. Take Emily, I'll watch the truck.” She said, pointing in the direction she had wandered yesterday. I nodded and jumped off of the truck bed and knocked on the passenger side to gain Emily's attention. 

“Bathroom?” I asked the little blond head, she looked up warily from her soggy cereal, I couldn't help but notice the purple and red bruises under her eyes. She nodded and opened the door, automatically clicking the lock over before climbing down from the seat. “Are you in much pain?” I asked. I already knew the answer, she had refused all offers of painkillers since having her arm bandaged.

“No.” She lied. I nodded, but made note to crush a pill into her lunch. If anyone should suffer for the death of her little brother, it was me, but I was to cowardly to admit it to her outloud. I held out my hand for her, my mother had done it for me plenty of times during festivals or while wandering busy streets. I didn't remember the age I was when she had stopped, but I figured a ten year old still required an adults supervision... right? She took my offered hand and looked up at me. I smiled awkwardly and began to walk in the direction of the airport, I could see it just rising over the tents.

Some of the shelters were made of old plywood and tarps, others were legitimate tents, ranging in size from a single to family size. Everyone was just waking up, small camping stoves were being pulled out of shelters to heat up water for morning tea or coffee. I desperately wanted to ask for a cup, but the people boiling the water looked suspiciously at me as I walked past them, their hands tightening around the heavy kettles threateningly. I turned my eyes away quickly and focused on the large blue front of the airport.

Saskatoon, John G. Diefenbaker, International Airport

“You, Woman. Where are you going?” Startled I looked away from the letters on the building and saw one of the enforcers, with his white strip of cloth tied around his arm, and his hand on his firearm holster. I paused in my slow trek, tightening my hand around Emily's small one and waited for the enforcer to reach us. I kept my stance relaxed, hoping he wouldn't see me as a threat.

“Bathroom.” I stated, one of my eyebrows rose in question at his tone of voice. His face morphed from irritated to angry in a matter of seconds, he puffed up his chest in his rage. 

“You better watch yourself, Woman. If you didn't have your blond kid with you...” He paused to stare down at Emily, “Well you wouldn't like it much,” He jerked his head in the direction I was headed, I frowned at his threat, shifting my weight so I was slight in front of Emily, “Outhouses are along the side of the building. I'll over look your attitude this time, but next time I'll drag you to the lock up for disrespecting the authority.” He snorted and stomped away from us.

I watched him, in stoic silence, disappear around a couple tents, people were watching us with wide fearful eyes, clutching their cookery to their chests or glancing at each other warily. I narrowed my eyes at them before tugging Emily toward our original destination, I hated assholes, I forced the spark of fury in my chest down. I was too old to act on it anymore, and I figured I had to set an example for Emily. I looked down to see if she was okay, her head was turned to watch the spot the enforcer had disappeared, her little jaw was tense, lips pursed, and her blue eyes were made of ice, if she had been a little older I might felt a little worried for the man.

The porta-potties were lined up in a tidy row, a bored female officer was standing to the left of the row, watching over the line up with lazy eyes. She gave a big yawn and looked up to the overcast sky, ignoring me. I picked a blue outhouse at random and pushed Emily in first.

“You go first, do you need help?” I didn't want to help, mostly because the smell was horrible inside, but offered none the less, while silently praying she said no. She shook her head and closed the door. I turned around in relief to guard the porta-potty, despite not sleeping well the previous night and the distinct lack of caffeine, I still wasn't tired enough to close my eyes. A moment later a knock on the door let me know Emily was done. We traded spots. 

I finished my business as quickly as I could, taking one pump of the hand sanitizer and wiping the excess on my poncho when I was done. When I exited I once again took Emily's hand, and we both walked back to the red truck, I kept my eyes peeled for the pissy enforcer, but I couldn't see him.

 

By noon, which I only knew because the people around us were pulling out their stoves again, I was slowly dozing in the truck with the window down. Emily and Mrs. Bedford had gone off on a walk after eating a couple crackers, Mrs. Bedford didn't comment on my crushing up the tablet of ibuprofen and mixing it into Emily's peanut butter, to which I was thankful for. I had no clue how I might have gone about explaining my reasoning without Emily catching on, I felt slightly guilty as I watched her eating it, but I figured I was going to Hell anyways so what did it matter.

“Ms. No Name, how was your first day in paradise?” I sighed warily and turned my head to the cheerful street kid I had met the other day, Jack, I thought. He walked up to the truck and leaned against the door at an angle, “Get into any trouble yet?”

I kept quiet as I watched him. I could smell his lack of hygiene, sweat, dirt, soot, and something chemical. Drugs no doubt. 

“You are a woman of few words huh?”Jack said, waving his arm through the air, “Did you hear about the western coast?” He asked. I had family there, so I turned my head, showing he had my full attention. “Tsunami. A couple of them hit the coast from what the survivors say. The only warning they got was the water in the ocean getting sucked back and wooosh! The guy was telling us all this was a pilot, said he grabbed as many people as he could, stole a plane, and flew up into the air as fast as he could, landed in Edmonton. Place is worse of then here apparently so he stole a car and sped away as fast as he could with his family in tow.”

“If he hard truly seen the recession of water in the ocean, he would have only had up to 5 minutes before a Tsunami hit. He wouldn't have had time to get to an airport, do a flight check, fuel the plane, and take off, all while grabbing people.” I said dully, I turned back to look out the front windshield.

“He lived in Comox, on Vancouver Island.” Jack shot back, I hadn't ever actually visited Comox or Courtney– the town connected to it, but my plane had an emergency landing there after leaving Vancouver airport, I knew the general geography and layout. Being on the eastern edge of the island would have offered it shelter from the tsunami, and the runway–used by both military and civilian aircraft, was located right along the shoreline. It was reasonable to assume he had seen the ocean draw in on itself and had enough time to take off with a few people. Which meant, I probably had more family dead from this. “I think that's the most I've heard you speak all at once.” Jack tapped on the metal door, “He took a small aircraft with about 7-8 people inside, including his family. Said the majority of the mainland shore was decimated by the wave. Asteroid impacts also caused massive landslides in the mountain passes, so we shouldn't expect any survivors from there for awhile. Edmonton got hit it pretty bad, an asteroid apparently tore right through them and left a massive crater. He didn't stick around long, said the people were pretty messed up. Big cities for you, take years to create, but just a day to destroy.”

I made a small noise of agreement, blinking a couple of times while looking up at the beige cloud cover, frowning in thought. I had never been particularly close to my father's extended family– the majority still lived in Scotland, but I did have an Aunt and Uncle who lived in Victoria with their family, they would send me the odd birthday card in the mail or a phone call on major holidays. I pushed the grief back and stared at Jack, there was still a chance they lived, no point in crying yet. It just reaffirmed my choice to go east.

“Do you know a lot of people around here?” I asked, focusing all of my attention on him. He looked startled for a moment before a broad smiled swept over his face.

“What do you need?” He asked, baring his yellowed teeth– which reminded me that I needed to brush my own teeth, “Can't help you with food or water, of course, but anything else I might be able to get you... for a price.”

“I need a ride, east, towards Ontario.” I stated softly, had I not been watching him so closely I might have missed his short swift intake of breath.

“You're in luck. Friend of mine owns a big moving truck. He's the generous type, volunteers a lot. Taking people in that direction, priority women and children. Cost is a small donation of whatever you got, and he'll take you anywhere along highway 16 and 1.” Jake said, bouncing himself off of the side of the truck to stand tall, his hands slipped into his pockets and he rocked on his feet while staring at me, “You interested? I think he's still got room.”

“Yeah, when does he leave?” I asked. Jack's hitched breathing, hands in pockets, frozen stare and rocking, along with his 'helpfulness', left me untrusting of anything he said, I've met better liars then this kid. Besides Mrs. Bedford, I hadn't seen a lot of compassion around this city, or anywhere really, but in the end, I needed to get to Petawawa. I was willing to take the risk to get back home, worst case scenario I would ask Mrs. Bedford if I could keep the hunting knife, I was sure she wouldn't mind. 

“Day after tomorrow, early morning before the sun rises. I'll introduce you right now if you want.” He said, “He's a good guy.”

“I'm watching the truck, later.” I said. I closed my eyes, signalling the end of our conversation. 

 

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke up to a much darker cloudy sky, and Emily brushing her fingers through one of my curls. I rolled my head to the side to stare at her huddled in the back seat, she continued to brush her fingers through the curl, making it even frizzier. 

“Mrs. Bedford said she wants to talk to you when you wake up.” She said, she began to twist the hair strand around her fingers, “You have pretty hair.”

“Thanks.” I leaned forward slowly and took a swig out of my warm water bottle. “Where is she?” I ask looking around the vicinity of the truck for Mrs. Bedford. I couldn't see her.

“Over by the tree.” She said, pointing toward the young tree we had sat under yesterday. I opened the truck door and stepped out slowly so I could stretch my legs. I closed the door carefully, so as not to shake the vehicle.

“Alright. Stay here.” I said as I turned toward the tree, I waved my hand as I left her to walk toward the small tree and the grey haired woman sitting beneath it. As I came closer I realized Mrs. Bedford's eyes were closed in sleep, I stood over her wondering how to go about waking her. “Mrs. Bedford?” I asked.

“Eugene. My name is Eugene. Only the children call me Mrs. Bedford.” She said, eyes still closed in rest. I stood there awkwardly wondering what to do or say, “Sit down girl, you're not in trouble.” Her eyes opened to look at the sky. I sat down next to her and joined in watching the sky, a useless endeavour because the cloud cover was so thick you couldn't tell individual clouds apart or see the sky.

“I'm going east. There's a truck driver going that way.” I said out of the blue, “May I keep the knife?”

“Emily will be heart broken. She's taken to you, when we went for our little walk all she did was ask to return to your side.” Mrs. Bedford, or rather, Eugene said. She let out a small sigh and turned to me, “Don't suppose I can talk you out of it. My entire family is in and around Salt Lake City, I'm sure when Emily and I get down there, they'll need all the help they can get to rebuild. Assuming the meteors dropped that far south.”

“If I don't find anything, I might meet up with you again” I said softly. I probably wouldn't, Salt Lake City was a long ways from Petawawa or Ottawa.”

“Do you trust the truck driver?” Eugene asked.

“I'll meet him later, apparently he volunteers a lot, and is taking a bunch of other women and children in that direction, he leaves a day after tomorrow. He just asked for a small donation or something. I figure I can find something to hand him.” I said, I didn't tell her my about my informant or general suspicion, if she knew, she might just start driving off while I was fast asleep in the truck.

“I can give you some dried food before you leave. Keep it hidden, no telling what folks will do for a little powdered milk and cereal these days.” She pat me on the shoulder, “And keep that knife. It would make me feel better to know you have it.”

We sat there in silence until the darkness and enforcers forced us into the truck. 

I took the first night shift again and opened by journal. I knew what I would use it for. On the second page I left it blank, but the third page, in a neat column I added two names and a general location. 

 

_ Emily Shaw– Salt Lake City Area  _

_ Eugene Bedford – Salt Lake City Area _

 

I didn't wake Eugene for her shift until an hour before dawn, instead I chose to draw comfort in listening to both of their soft breathing all night.

 


End file.
